


THIS IS A SIGN(in a language you can't read)

by Chychyd



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 4+1 fic, Best Friends, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Broken Hearts, Broken Promises, Clubbing, Dick Tozier the Cocaine King, F/M, Gay yearning, I don't know how auditions work either, M/M, Memories, Mike Hanlon Deserves The World Club, Mike being an angel baby who can do no wrong, Mike highkey stalked his friends for 20 years but it was only out of love, Movie Auditions, New Years, Party, Recreational Drug Use, Reference to The Yellow Wallpaper, Vomiting, bev marsh do be a dime tho, corporate events, eddie k abuses a man over the phone, grainy videos of badly lit comedy clubs from 2007, grumpy man says Let Me Sleep, i know nothing abt architecture pls don't fact check me, local gay is tired and doesn't care abt your fashion empire, love at first sight on a subway in new york, ominous dreams, shitty agents, slight bev and richie but not really, so many cigarettes, that asshole doesn't write his own material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chychyd/pseuds/Chychyd
Summary: The universe couldn’t keep them apart, no matter how hard Pennywise tried to. None of them knew just how hard the universe tried to get them back together, to spark something that would light up the hidden memories. Over and over again they passed each other in their lives, the universe hoping it could be enough. But it never stuck, now matter how close theystood or how much they talked. There was a bittersweet irony to it- the fact that three of the losers could stand in the same room and not recognize each other, not fully at least. How two of them could be closer than they ever had before and still not fully understand the past they held in an unmarked grave in their heads.A series of events from 1999- 2014 where the members of the losers club crossed paths without remembering each other.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

The universe couldn’t keep them apart, no matter how hard Pennywise tried to. None of them knew just how hard the universe tried to get them back together, to spark something that would light up the hidden memories. Over and over again they passed each other in their lives, the universe hoping seeing each other could be enough. But it never stuck, no matter how close they stood, how much they talked. There was a bittersweet irony to it. The fact that three of the members of the loser’s club could stand in the same room and not recognize the other- not fully at least. How two of them could be closer than they ever had been before- and still not understand the past they held in an unmarked grave in their heads. 

1999

The music was so loud it vibrated through Richie’s entire body. The lights flashed so bright in the dimmed room it made it nearly impossible to see who you were dancing with, but Richie didn’t mind. He stopped caring a while ago- a few drinks ago, a few puffs ago, a few pills or tabs ago. His body was pleasantly numb- the only feeling was the outrageous bass that vibrated the whole room. 

When the lights flashed something caught his eye. Each time they flashed he could make out the figure of a man and a woman- she had her arms crossed over her chest while the man loomed over her. He saw her take a step back on the next flash- he took a step closer. When the lights flashed again, Richie could see her snatch her arm away from him. A wave of anger rolled through Richie and he pictured his sister for a moment- about the same height and maybe just a little older than the red head across the dance floor. 

Before he realized it, he was pushing through the crowd towards the couple. As he got closer, he could hear her yelling at him, but the creep was only grinning and kept pushing towards her. Richie swooped in, not even using his brain but just following his limbs. He swung a long arm around the red head’s shoulders and glared at the creep. “Hey babe, this guy bothering you?” Richie cocked his head sideways at the guy who took a step back. The red head stammered for a moment, looking between the two strangers. “I think you should go.” He told the creep, who silently turned and walked away. Richie could feel the girl deflate under him, letting out a long and shaky breath.

“Thank you.” She shouted over the loud music as Richie removed his arm. He finally got a good look at her face through the flashing lights. She was beautiful- gorgeous red hair just above her shoulders, green eyes illuminated by the strobe light. She had a beautiful smile donned in red lipstick. Her eyes were lined black and grungy and she wore black boots, ripped jeans, and black tank top and a loose flannel draped off her shoulders. It wasn’t too far off from what Richie was wearing and he chuckled to himself at that. He was also wearing black boots, ripped jeans, and a distressed band t-shirt. A few chains dangled from his pant loops and they glimmered in the light.

“Yo’r welcome.” Richie slurred- his moment of fake sobriety over now that the creep was gone. “Want to get a drink?” He offered. The girl nodded her head and took his hand as they pushed through the crowd to the bar. He pushed his too long and too curly hair out of his sweaty face as the bartender slid them their drinks. “What’s yo’r name?” He leaned down to ask in her ear. This was a terrible place for a conversation, but it would have to do.

She reached up and spoke into his ear, “Beverly.” He blamed the hot air on his neck for the way he shivered. 

“I’m Rich.” He raised his glass and they toasted before downing the liquor in one long gulp. There was a moment of brief panic as a wave of nausea knocked through them- both worried the shot was going to try to come back up. The moment faded and they ordered one more each before heading back to the dance floor. 

Richie was becoming less and less sober as the minutes went on. He had drank a lot tonight- amongst other substances he took before getting to the club- and each one of them were kicking his ass. He felt free and loose and danced as if there were not a hundred or so other people in this club celebrating the end of the decade like it might be the last one- depending which conspiracy theory news you watch. Beverly laughed at his spins and body rolls- which sounded fantastic. Every time she laughed it was like Richie was home. Except when Richie thought about it, he couldn’t remember where home was. Richie took her hand and pulled her close, their bodies pressing against one another. “What else are you on tonight, space cowboy?” She asked in his ear with a giggle.

Richie pulled back and raised an eyebrow, as to ask, _are you sure you want to know?_

Beverly raised one back as an answer, _yes, I do._

“Open your mouth.” Richie murmured in her ear. Bev’s initial reaction was _no. You don’t know this guy, he could give you anything._ But there was another voice, quieter, smaller. It was nasally and had a warm laugh. _It’s just Rich_ , the voice said. As if that was supposed to mean anything. But she found herself opening her mouth anyways and a bitter tasting pill was dropped on her tongue. She swallowed it dry and made a face as the taste lingered on her tongue. Richie laughed, “Another drink?” Bev nodded her head and they headed back to the bar.

Not long after, the two were laughing and dancing wildly- both feeling the effects of the drug warm their bodies and release the chemicals that made them feel like this night would never end. They were both hot and sweaty and breathless, but their bodies pressed against one another to the music. It wasn’t overly sexual- Richie didn’t really think of her- or any girls really, like that. But it felt nice. To have another warm body pressed to yours, to feel them having as much fun as you are. It was hot- though. Richie can’t deny that she was incredibly attractive and the way her body rolled, and her hips did a little grind against his leg probably would have any other guy begging to take her home. But Richie just grabbed her by the waist and did it back, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

Their eyes met and locked- her green to his brown. A shiver ran down Richie’s spine as Beverly’s hand smoothed up his chest. Her eyes flicked to his mouth and back up to his eyes. She reached up on her tip toes and pressed their lips together, her hand making its way into his curly sweat-damp hair. The kiss punched something in him, knocking the wind right out of his lungs. His first drug-fueled reaction was to kiss back- his hands curled around her waist. Just as her tongue prodded, it was like an alarm went off in his head, THIS IS BEV. THIS IS BEV. ABORT ABORT.

Richie pulled back quickly. Maybe a little too quickly given the disappointed look on Bev’s face. “I’m sorry.” Richie apologized quickly. “I-I it’s not you, it’s just-” He tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry. “You’re gorgeous and everything but I feel like I _know_ you. Like really know you. Like I was kissing my sister or something.” Richie made a pained face and waited for an angry reaction. 

Bev’s face was blank for a second before she busted out laughing. “Are you gay?” She laughed out before covering her mouth. She cursed herself for letting the drugs take away her filter. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!” She corrected but Richie’s face gave him away. “I just mean-” She gestured to his black painted fingernails. “I had a feeling, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t mean it in a bad way or anything, I don’t care. I’m just wondering. I was kind of doing that to.. test.” She confessed.

Richie stammered over his words, laughing over some of them and rubbing the back of his neck. He quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation- even though Richie himself could barely hear their conversation. He swallowed and nodded, looking down with a shy smile. 

Bev tilted his head up with her finger, “Hey, that’s fine honey. It’s 2000 now, no need to be shy about it. Come on, want to get out of here?”

Richie smiled wide and nodded his head. She was the one to pull him through the crowd this time, and his memory flashed. Big open field with grass that went all the way up to his hip. It was sunny with only spotted clouds littering the blue sky. Laughing, so much laughing. In front of him was a beautiful red headed girl pulling him through the field. She was wearing overalls and a red shirt. Her ponytail bounced behind her and her nails that held Richie’s hand were almost the same color as her shirt.

The cold Chicago air brought him back to reality. “Holy fuck.” Richie pulled his leather jacket closer to him. Neither of them had dressed for the weather. “Do you not have a jacket?” Richie gawked as Bev pulled her flannel up over her shoulders.

“No. I didn’t know it got this fucking cold.” She was already shaking.

“Jesus Christ, Bev it’s Chicago!” Richie laughed and started shrugging off his jacket.

“No, No, No, Rich, you don’t have to do that. I’m a big girl, I can face the consequences of my own actions.” 

Richie rolled his eyes and draped the heavy jacket over her shoulders. Luckily the drugs did a pretty good job of keeping his body temperature up, even though it was still January in Chicago. “Yeah because it would be _you_ who wouldn’t hear the end of it if _I_ let you catch pneumonia.” Richie scoffed. “Like Eddie would ever let me forget that.” He didn’t even realize he had said it- the words didn’t register because as soon as they came out of his mouth, they were already fading from his memory. 

He was stuck between two worlds that blended together seamlessly. Right now, he was walking down a crowded Chicago street on New Years with a beautiful red head named Beverly. He was shivering but a mixture of her smile and the beans in his system was keeping him warm enough. When he blinked, he was much warmer- the sun was shining brightly as it glimmered off the water. He stared at a much younger version of the woman next to him, stretched out on a towel while they all donned their whitey tighties. Her sunglasses sat low on her nose and she peaked over them and winked. All the boys nervously looked away, pretending like they weren’t staring in the first place. All of this should confuse him. But when he met Bev’s eyes, they flashed somewhere between now and ten years ago, and all he could do was take her hand and smile. “What brings you to Chicago?” He finally asked after a long beat of silence.

“Um,” She thought for a moment. “It’s funny actually. I don’t know.” She laughed, as if it just occurred to her. “I have been in Portland for the last few years and I decided there was nothing there for me.” Richie’s mind flashed to a postcard tacked to his wall. It read _Greetings from Portland!_ In big cartoon letters and lots of colorful buildings in the background. “So, I decided to try somewhere new. Some of my friends were going on a road trip for New Years so I rode along with them.”

“Where are you planning to go?”

“New York. I got an internship there for this upcoming spring. It was always the plan anyways, to go to the big apple and make it big.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Richie breathed. 

“What about you? Why are you in Chicago?” Bev asked, swinging their hands.

Richie blew out a raspberry. “Comedy, I think. That’s what I’ve been trying to do anyways. I’m in an improv troop down at Second City. Hoping I can start booking shows eventually, get noticed. Maybe make it to New York too. Saturday Night Live or something.” Richie chewed on his lip, his big dreams feeling more and more out of reach each year he spent practicing and improving but still bouncing from apartment to apartment and working dead end jobs to fund his Second City classes. 

“God, that’s perfect. That’s fucking perfect Richie.” Bev announced excitedly, feeling an unexplainable rush of energy flood into her. Probably explainable if she knew what kind of drug she was on right now- but she didn’t care enough to ask.

“You think so?” Richie asked shyly, suddenly feeling like he was 14 again getting complimented for the first time. _You grow into your looks._

“Absolutely! You’re hilarious.” Neither one of them thought to question how she knew that. “Do the British guy!” She tugged on his hand and looked up at Richie with big pleading eyes.

Richie laughed and rolled his eyes, reciting something about _suck the wound, doctor K_. They both laughed heavy and it felt so good. For the first time in years Richie felt happy, and he couldn’t explain it. His brain didn’t let him think too hard on the ridiculous exchange between two people who had seemingly never met before a few hours ago.

“Cigarette?” Bev offered as she pulled one out of her pack. Richie took it eagerly and the hot smoke warmed him from the inside. Again, a memory flashed in Richie’s head. The same young red head, a cigarette between her fingers and one between his as they sat side by side in a dimly lit room. It was stuffy and cool and smelled like dirt. But they gently swung back and forth in a hammock while they flipped through a stolen Rolling Stones magazine.

The nicotine hit his brain- and he had forgotten all about Bev saying he’s hilarious and his British impression that they both had somehow remembered. It was washed away in a wave of cotton that filled Richie’s head with each puff. “Where are you staying?” He asked, realizing they had been walking in the direction of Richie’s place.

“One of my friends has a buddy we were supposed to be crashing with tonight. But honestly, I have no idea where that is or where they are.” She chuckled.

“No biggie. We’re pretty close to my place if you want to get out of the cold for a while.” Richie offered. 

Bev smiled wide again, pupils so blown Richie could barely make out the green that was once there. “Sure!” She chirped. 

Soon they were climbing the steps to Richie’s apartment. It wasn’t much and he had two other roommates- but he was hoping they would be out partying too since it was New Years, after all. Richie was still not anywhere near sober as he attempted to get the key into the lock. It took several tries with him pushing his smudged glasses up and flicking his hair out of his face for the lock to finally turn. He stumbled in, the smell of weed and beer filling his nostrils. “Shit.” 

“Ayyeee Ricardoo what’s going on ma’ mannn.” His roommate excitedly slurred from the couch, smoke surrounding his area and several beer bottles scattered around him. “Oh shit! You brought home a girl! Fuuccckkk dude I never thought I’d see the day when four-eyes mcgee was able to-”

“Goodnight, Andy!” Richie called as he pulled Bev through the tiny living and kitchen area into his bedroom. “Sorry about him.” Richie rushed out once they were safe behind his door. “He’s a fucking pest.”

“He reminds me of you.” Bev breathed casually, taking in the band posters and disarray of Richie’s room.

“Oh, trash the Trashmouth, I see how it is.” He laughed and a huge wave of Déjà vu passed through both of them, making them freeze where they stood for a long moment. Richie felt weirdly sober- too sober. It made him uncomfortable, it made his head start to hurt and his heart pick up in a weird way. He swallowed hard and eyed his bong stashed in the corner of his room. “Want to smoke?” He asked, desperate to get this uneasy feeling out of his chest. 

Bev turned to him and nodded her head, something playing on her face that Richie couldn’t pick out. Richie sat at his desk and started setting up while Bev kept inspecting the room. She noticed the guitar propped up against the wall. “You play?” She asked, pointing at the instrument. 

Richie glanced over and chuckled. “Yeah I had a band before I tried getting serious about comedy. Kind of thought we might get somewhere with it until our lead singer overdosed.”

Bev winced, “I’m sorry.”

Richie gave her a sad smile. “It was a while back. I haven’t really played much since.”

“Would you?” Bev asked. Richie met her eyes, “For me?”

Richie couldn’t help the easy smile she brought to his face. “For you, Bevvie? Anything.”

Richie had gone back to filling up his bowl with the sticky plant, but Bev was frozen in place. When she blinked the room was different, but still similar. It was a bigger room than this one. The walls were a light blue color and the bed was smaller and tucked into a corner. It still had posters. Posters and polaroid pictures and letters and post cards. Whatever memory could be tacked and tapped to the wall. A younger boy with buck teeth and equally as curly and wild hair sat at the desk. But it was homework in front of him, not drugs. Bev sat on the windowsill and blew the smoke from her cigarette out so his mom wouldn’t catch them smoking in the house. The boy wore big bulky glasses, not unlike the one’s he’s wearing now. And he’s smiling and laughing and calling her _Bevvie_.

“Ma’ lady.” Richie’s voice- deeper than the boy in her memory, pulled her back. And as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit off white room, the memory was gone. She took the tall glass pipe out of his hand and lit it up while he was grabbing the guitar. She took a seat on his unmade bed as he settled back into the desk chair. He strummed lightly, adjusting the cords as needed. He gestured for the pipe and took a deep hit before releasing the billowing smoke into the tiny room. They both laughed, the thc already soaking into their veins. 

A few hits and some clumsy strumming later, Bev was laid back on Richie’s bed, humming along to what he was playing. She didn’t know the name of the song or it’s lyrics- but she knew- she knew the song. She could hear herself singing it- smaller, younger. Her eyes were closed, and she felt like she could see it- a small boy with skinny arms and boney hands strumming a tune that they wrote together. Bev couldn’t read music, so she wrote the lyrics and Richie changed the notes where it was needed. She remembered the way his calloused fingers felt after he had been playing for a while and Bev remembered the larger hand holding hers tonight- the same callouses in the same places.

At some point, she fell asleep. Because she woke to the sound of snoring and a head of black hair in her face. “ _Fuck_.” She muttered to herself, with no recollection of where she was or how she got there. She was relieved to find she was still fully clothed but had a hell of a headache. The sleeping man next to her seemed to be fully clothed too, and he wasn’t wrapped around her, just asleep next to her, back turned away so she couldn’t even see the mystery man’s face. She cursed herself for drinking so much as she picked up her dead phone from the floor and slipped her boots back on. She had no idea what time it was- but peeking out the guys window she could just see the sun starting to creep over the Chicago skyline. 

She carefully crept out of the room and out of the apartment. She cursed herself again once she got outside, it was still freezing out and she had no idea which way to go so she just started walking, pulling her flannel as tightly as she could around herself. _Happy fucking New Year, Bev. Started it by waking up in a stranger’s bed, how nice._

Richie groaned and stretched as the sunlight rudely peaked through the blinds in his room. He flopped over, trying to let sleep take him again but to no avail. Something nagged at him until he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. The first thing he noticed was that he was still fully dressed from the night before. The second, was the smell that caught his attention. He leaned over and followed the smell to his pillow. The scent of perfume gave him only a glimpse of a memory, a red headed woman sitting on his bed while he packed a bowl. His half-smoked bong on the desk confirmed the memory and he groaned. He did his best to remember the rest of the night- where this woman came from, how they ended up back at his apartment, and what they did after they smoked. But Richie couldn’t remember anything other than being at the club and that one snippet of her in Richie’s room.

Richie doesn’t think- he couldn’t have- _wouldn’t_ have. He still had all his clothes on, which was a good sign. He highly doubts he would have stripped and then put all his clothes back on before going to sleep- no way. He padded out of his room to the kitchen where his roommate loudly greeted him. Richie’s head pounded and he told his roommate to shut the fuck up.

“Woof, did someone not get lucky last night?” Andy mocked.

Richie just flipped him off while chugging orange juice straight out of the container and putting it back in the fridge. He went back to his room and sat on the edge of the bed, hugging the pillow to his chest. He knew it was probably weird seeing as he met this girl once and doesn’t even like girls. But the perfume was addicting, intoxicating. It smelled familiar- like he should absolutely know who that perfume belongs to. He couldn’t stop putting it up to his face until the smell faded and Richie forgot all about the red head girl who spent the night New Years.

Somehow, 16 years later, Bev still wore that perfume. 


	2. Chapter 2

2005

Richie’s knee bobbed up and down nervously and he put his hand over it- hoping he could hold his own leg down, but to no avail. He scrubbed at his half numb nose and cleared his throat, feeling far too jittery to sit still on this musky subway. He knew he probably sniffed a little too much before he left but hoped by the time he got to the venue he would have mellowed out a little bit. 

This subway was taking for fucking ever-  _ I thought these things were supposed to be super-fast? _ Richie thought to himself before digging into his satchel he was carrying with him. He felt like a dweeb at first for carrying around a dumb man purse before he noticed every other film student in the entire city carried one as well. He tried not to hate it so much after that- it was just for the weekend after all.

He pulled out the book he has been trying to read for the past three weeks but can’t ever get himself to focus on it. Like now, he’s been too coked up to relax and focus enough to understand what’s going on instead of skimming the words without any of them actually absorbing into his brain. He casually thinks so himself that he needs to cut back, but a little voice in his head tells him he’s funnier this way, and he believes it.

After a few minutes of trying to focus on why the poor wife in the book is having a meltdown that feels eerily relatable, Richie feels eyes on him. It’s not an unusual feeling, he liked having eyes on him- that’s why he chose a profession where people paid to watch him for an hour. But this felt different- a chill ran down Richie’s spine before he slowly glanced above the book. His eyes flicked around from passenger to passenger before they landed on the same yellow-covered book that was in his own hands. 

Above the book was big brown eyes that immediately looked away as soon as they met his. The man seemed to cover his face with the book, hiding the smile that made his eyes crinkle around the edges. He was wearing a business suit and had a briefcase tucked under his arm. Richie allowed himself to check the man out quickly before flicking his eyes back to his book. He was definitely attractive- but didn’t think he would be the square looking businessman’s  _ type _ .

A few more minutes passed. The train stopped and then continued and neither Richie nor the businessman got off. Richie was staring at a paragraph, not reading it, but just trying not to look at the man when he felt the eyes on him again. He gave up, smiled wide and slowly sat the book in his lap before looking up at him. Again, the man looked away as soon as Richie saw him. Richie’s body was buzzing to get up anyways, so he dog-eared the book and swiftly hopped from his seat and filled the one next to the businessman.

He didn’t say anything at first but saw how stiff the man was. He just occupied the space and watched out of the corner of his eye- the way the man stared at the page, but his eyes weren’t moving. Richie finally leaned over, his shoulder pressed against the man’s. “ It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness I suppose.” Richie quoted the only line he could remember.

“Wh-what?” The man sputtered with eyes wide, finally turned to Richie.

“Oh, you haven’t gotten there yet?” Richie pointed at the book. “Sorry, I won’t spoil it for you.” He winked. Thank god for cocaine- boosting his confidence.

“I-” The man looked confused, his eyebrows scrunched together so tightly it contoured his whole face with deep set lines. Not in a way that made him look old- he was actually pretty young- he had to be Richie’s age, maybe even a little younger. He couldn’t have been more than 28, 30 tops. For a split-second Richie wondered if he didn’t understand English before he remembered the book sitting in the man’s lap was completely in English. “Do I know you?” he asked.

Richie couldn’t help feeling a wave of familiarity when he saw the man’s face too, but as pretty as he was- Richie would have remembered him if they had met. “Nope.” He answered, popping the P at the end. “But you’re more than welcomed to.” He had a sly grin and noticed the man’s adam’s apple bob. Richie extended his hand, “Dick. Or at least that’s what most people call me.” He joked. He had been testing out the name for a while, feeling a need of a stage persona when his real name felt too personal to use. Someone had suggested “Dickmouth” at one point. It didn’t quite feel right- like he was on to something, but it also felt too close to the things Richie didn’t need people inquiring about with a name like that. 

“Edward.” The businessman replied with a chuckle, shaking Richie’s hand. 

Something happened when their hands touched. Something that felt weirdly like electricity but not- and they both felt lightheaded for a moment, the florescent lights of the subway felt too bright. When they took their hands away, both scratched the scar along their palms- not even realizing they matched. 

Eddie cleared his throat and gave a nervous smile. “I really feel like I know you from somewhere. Do you live around or something?” 7 million people live in New York City but somehow Eddie would recognize this one tall, lanky stranger wearing an ugly button up shirt with an uglier floral print on it and a white shirt under it with a coffee stain. 

Richie shook his head. “I live in Chicago, I’m on my way to do a comedy show out here with some of my friends though. Maybe you’ve seen me perform in Chicago?” Richie offered. The longer he looked at Edward, the more he felt like he knew him too. Richie felt something in the back of his head, like a dim lamp flickering just before it was going to light up or blow out.

“No, I’ve never been to Chicago.” Eddie shrugged. “I guess you just have one of those faces.” 

Richie shrugged back, still feeling like it wasn’t quite right. “Yeah I guess so.” He briefly had a thought about spaghetti and thought to himself that he must be hungry, but coke doesn’t really let you feel hungry so his brain must be telling him instead. “So where are you heading on this beautiful New York Friday night, Edward?’ Richie reclined his hands behind his head and extended his legs, crossing them. He took up far more space than necessary.

Eddie seemed to bring himself inward at that, bringing his knees together and folding his hands into his lap on top of the now closed book. “Home.” He answered simply. “I’m sure my wife is cooking up something-  _ delicious _ .” He sighed the last word sarcastically.

_ Wife _ . Richie cringed inwardly. Well, there goes his chances- maybe. “ _ Ah _ .” Richie nodded his head thoughtfully as if he knew anything about wives or cooking dinner. “Well, this comedy club I’m going to has pretty good food.” He tried.

“I thought you weren’t from around here.” There was a tug that pulled on Eddie’s lips. He was hit with a feeling of Déjà vu.

Richie felt his heart pick up- but blamed it on the drugs. “That’s what I’ve been  _ told _ .” He corrected, biting the inside of his cheek for some reason.

Eddie let out a breathless kind of laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think a comedy club would be able to cater to my list of dietary restrictions but thank you for the invite.” He stood as the train came squealing to a stop. He straightened out his suit and flashed Richie a smile that made his stomach flop weirdly. He stopped at the open doors and turned back to Richie, unable to stop himself from looking one more time. “Dick, right?” He asked.

“Call me Richie.” Eddie nodded and stepped out of the train but stopped suddenly as the sliding doors closed behind him. He spun around quickly, like he just remembered he forgot something important, but the subway was already pulling forward. When he looked through the window, he saw him-  _ Richie _ \- staring back at him, mouth open slightly and eyebrows drawn together, like he was realizing something too. 

And then he was gone. Zooming down the tunnel, leaving Eddie with a chill that passed all the way through him, as if he were a ghost. As Eddie started walking down the concrete corridor, he quickly started forgetting the man’s face and his bulky glasses and his ugly shirt and the book he was reading and what his name was. By the time Eddie finished ascending the stairs and stepped into the hustle and bustle of New York City, he had forgotten the interaction completely. As far as he could remember, it was a peaceful and silent ride to his block.

Years later, a youtube video titled  _ Trashmouth’s Big Break _ would pop up under Eddie’s recommendations while looking up how to fix his garbage disposal. He didn’t know why he clicked on it when the thumbnail was obviously some guy doing stand-up comedy- not really Eddie’s thing. But the video had some odd  _ millions _ of views and Eddie found himself holding back laughs at the ridiculous dick jokes and obscene stories. It became Eddie’s guilty pleasure- every so often stumbling across a video of  _ Trashmouth Live in Chicago _ that would have him in a youtube rabbit hole in the early hours of the morning, unable to explain to his confused wife why he was watching badly filmed stand-up bits from some guys 2007 flip phone. 

Eddie couldn’t explain that when he heard the man’s voice it made a small part of Eddie warm- right in the middle of his chest. He would pull his legs up into his chair and fold himself small- a way he never liked to be seen. He’d wrap his arms around his legs and perch his chin on his knees, watching the grainy, shaky video more so just to hear the man laugh at his own jokes than to actually hear the jokes themselves. He couldn’t explain it and wouldn’t bother to try. It was something he kept to himself, and as the years went by, and the comedian became more popular, more mainstream, Eddie found himself laughing less and less. He watched the man on the screen intently, waiting for the punchline that always felt like it fell flat, no matter how much the audience laughed. 

It all made sense as they made their way out of the Jade of the Orient years later. Somehow Eddie knew Richie stopped writing his own jokes. He knew it wasn’t Richie even when he couldn’t remember who Richie was. 


	3. Chapter 3

2010

Eddie didn’t like big parties. He didn’t like going to these big corporate events that costs too much money and he has to wear an even nicer suit that costs way too much money. He wasn’t buddies with really any of his coworkers, and he didn’t drink at these events- so he often felt like an outsider in the jumble of sharply dressed executives.

The party was for some big fashion company that was Eddie’s most recent client. The head designer wanted to open a huge, beautiful, modern headquarters right in the middle of the city and it had been Eddie’s job to go over their financial risks of something so grand and expensive. It was a solid investment, surprisingly. The brand was relatively new, but had blown up so expansively, they would have a solid 10 years of revenue coming in before they had to start worrying about whether the costs were going to outweigh the income. Eddie had still ever met the head designer, only having communicated through the accounting and finances team, but supposedly she was here tonight. 

Eddie leaned against a beautiful marble pillar and took in the gorgeous architecture. It was somehow both modern and gothic. Giant marble pillars supported ridiculously high ceilings with accents of gold. But the space itself was huge and open, lined with windows to take in the beautiful New York skyline. The architect who designed the building really had an eye for it.

The pillar stood across from the open side of the bar. Eddie had been nursing a gin and tonic- sans the gin- for most of the event. He was only planning on staying until a representative of the company said a few words of thanks and then he would be heading home- out of this monkey suit and-

“Heineken, please.” A tall-  _ huge _ man leaned over the bar to the bartender and then flashed Eddie a huge white smile. The bartender slid him the cold green bottle and the man thanked him before walking over to Eddie. “The only good thing about these parties, right?” He asked, gesturing to the open bar.

Eddie shrugged, trying his best to not stare at the man’s sharp jaw or his arms that had to be nearly the size of Eddie’s head. He swallowed. “Water.” Was all he managed to stammer out, shaking the ice in his glass. 

The guy winced and laughed. “Ouch. I can’t tell if you’re brave or a masochist.” 

Eddie laughed too and gave an overexaggerated shrug. “Both?” He answered, clearing his throat from the laughing. He reached his hand out, “Edward.” He offered.

The man slapped his hand into Eddie’s and shook is stiffly. His hand was huge and rough compared to Eddie’s and it send a weird shiver through his body. “Benjamin.” 

Even though neither said anything, both had an annoying ringing in their ears, one that buzzed like cicadas on a muggy summer evening. Eddie had a flash of lying in the grass, his skin damp and laughter filling his ears. It was gone as soon as their hands parted. Ben wouldn’t say anything either about how the scar on his stomach itched under his suit- the flash of tiny hands taping white gauze to the open wound.

“Do you work for Rogan-Marsh?” Eddie asks, figuring Benjamin must be a model for the fashion company. He was wearing tight navy pants that stopped at the ankle, showing off his brown Gucci shoes. He was wearing a simple white button up that was unbuttoned just enough to show off the light brown chest hair between his pecks. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows- his shiny watch looked very expensive. His hair was short but perfectly styled. His teeth perfectly straight and white. Eddie forced himself to look away, finding severance in the half-melted ice in his glass. 

Ben scoffs, “Oh god no. I’m an architect. I designed this place.” He chuckles and Eddie’s eyes go wide.

“You designed this place?” Eddie gawks. Ben nods and smiles around his beer. “It’s gorgeous. You’re incredible.” Eddie’s eyes scan the room again just as someone takes the microphone and starts announcing. There was a weird little panic in Eddie’s head that repeated his sentence back to himself, making sure  _ You’re gorgeous. It’s incredible _ , didn’t come out instead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here today for the grand opening of the newest and most gorgeous headquarters for the Rogan-Marsh Company. And it is my honor to introduce the most brilliant fashion minds of our era, Tom Rogan and Beverly Marsh!”

There is loud clapping and cheers coming from every corner of the room as a man and a woman ascend the stairs to the stage. But it all sounds muffled- underwater. The ringing is back in Eddie’s ears and it’s so loud he almost wants to slap his hands to the sides of his head. It only gets louder as the man and the beautiful red headed woman take pose in front of the microphone. Eddie can see her mouth move in front of the microphone, but he can’t hear anything except the ringing. Everything felt like he was watching it in slow motion- the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the announcer walking off stage, the man next to the red head smiling wide and raising a hand to wave.

A glass shattering pulls Eddie out of it. He looks next to him, the tall built man had eyes so wide and his face was so pale you would think he just saw an actual ghost in this room full of very alive people. His green bottle was shattered at his feet and he stammered over his words- something like a “I need to go.” Before jogging out of the room. 

The attention was only shifted for a second before all eyes were back on the stage. The ringing was gone but Eddie felt something horrible creeping up his stomach as he looked forward. The man on stage was average height, wearing a perfectly tailored suit and shiny black shoes. He had an arm wrapped around her waist, fingers pressing into her green dress. And she had a look on her face- not quite placeable. But her mouth was still open, like she was in the middle of saying something and forgot- so the other man started talking for her. Her eyes met Eddie’s, all the way in the back of the room and Eddie didn’t even realize he was running until he was leaned over the railing, dry heaving nothing but the water he had been drinking.

“What the fuck.” He groaned and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Fuck this.” He shrugged off his suit jacket- now feeling abnormally hot and feverish. This is exactly why he hated these parties. Too many people, too many germs- god knows what kind of sickness someone in that room had. He noticed a nice car pull out of the parking lot a little too quick, tires skidding and engine roaring loudly as the car sped off.

Eddie plopped down into the driver seat of his SUV and hurriedly yanked his pills from the glove department. He shook some into his mouth and swallowed them dry before sighing and resting his head back on the seat. The nausea simmered down and he started cooling down. By the time he reached the house and Myra asked him why he was already home, he couldn’t remember why he left- so he just told her it was lame, and he had too much work to do. He locked himself in his study for the rest of the night, something that felt important nagging at him no matter how much work he got done.

Once the headquarters opened, the paperwork for the Rogan-Marsh Company was filed and Eddie didn’t think about it again. He didn’t think about the party or the building with the tall marble pillars or the huge, gorgeous man who designed it or the beautiful red headed woman in the green dress who owned it. He didn’t think about how that man standing next to him felt so familiar in a way- like they had had that conversation before-  _ You built this? That’s incredible _ . Nor did he think about locking eyes with the woman on stage from fifty feet away and seeing those same eyes glazed over in white- mind empty as a young girl floated, suspended in the air.

It was forgotten the moment his SUV pulled out of the parking lot and it wouldn’t be for another six years that he remembered that interaction again- as he watched Ben curl his fingers around Bev’s waist in a gentle way- nothing like the strong possessive grip the man on stage had on her. Ben tucked a red lock behind Bev’s ear, and he was teleported back to that beautiful building. “Holy shit.” Eddie breathed, gaining the attention of the two love birds. “The Rogan-Marsh grand opening. New York, 2010.” Eddie was looking at the floor, his eyebrows scrunched together. When he looked up, both Bev and Ben were staring with wide eyes. Ben’s hand had instinctively moved to hover over the scar on his stomach. Bev bit her lip as the memory hit her as well.

It was almost eerie- all three of them doubled over in laughter simultaneously, cackling so hard some of the other losers had migrated into the room to see what the noise was all about. They laughed so hard they cried, and Bev pulled Ben and Eddie to her, sandwiched between the two in a long overdue embrace. How could they have been so blind all this time? Eddie almost wished he was as religious as he had been as a kid- because as much as he didn’t believe in an all-powerful being now, he wished there was someone to thank- for trying at least. Someone he could point to and say,  _ thank you for trying to bring us back together, even if it didn’t work. _


	4. Chapter 4

2012

 _Richie_ . Someone called in his sleep. The voice was young and high pitched- like a teenager. _Listen fuckhead_ . The voice was angry but in a cute way, like the voice was going to jump on his back and try to take him down, but he was 6 inches too short and 40 pounds too light. _Richie baby_. It pulled on Richie’s heart, got a groan out of him. 

_Rich, wake the fuck up._

Richie sat up fast, mumbling _“I’m up, I’m up fuck_.” He had to shake the blanket out to find his glasses. The annoyed face of his agent stared down at him, his arms crossed over his chest. Richie realized he couldn’t remember what he was just dreaming, and that annoyed him for some reason.

“Good fucking morning, sunshine!” His agent chirped, the words sharp and dripping with sarcasm. “Or shall I say afternoon? Had a long night?” He gestured to the several empty beer bottles strewn across the trashed room. At least he was the only one in his bed- he could at least avoid that lecture. 

Richie flopped back down and threw his arms over his eyes. “To what do I owe the tremendous pleasure of you letting yourself into my home and into my room to watch me sleep and wake me up on this glorious god forsaken morning, Christoff?”

He couldn’t see it, but he knew his agent was rolling his eyes. “The audition you’re supposed to be at in 30 minutes.”

“ _Fuck_.” Richie muttered.

“Yep. So, saddle up cowboy, they’re looking for the smooth-talking southern antagonist for the live action version of Bill Denbrough’s book _The Attic_.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie questioned. If felt weird on his tongue. Maybe his mouth was just dry.

“Yes, Bill Denbrough. His books are huge right now. They made _The Dark_ last year, it was a hit. You read the book that I sent you right?”

Richie was still deep in thought, the name repeating in his head like it meant something more than the author of a book he didn’t read.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I should have known you wouldn’t read it, _fuck_ . Get up, I’ll let you read the synopsis in the car.” Richie started rolling out of bed as Christoff started out of his room, mumbling under his breath about, _told them I had the perfect southern charm for this fucking movie._

“You know I’m from Maine, right?” He called as his agent walked out of the room, but he said it in a perfect low southern accent.

“Get dressed, Tozier.” Was all he called back.

Richie was quickly skimming through the summary of the book on Christoff’s Ipad as they headed to the studio. The character he was auditioning for was the bad guy- which wasn’t revealed until closer to the end. Apparently, there’s an attic full of expensive stuff and this character wants to sell it and make big bucks, but the place is haunted. Richie skips most of the plot, only really focuses on how douchie and annoying this character his. He skips to the end.

“That’s a shitty ending.” Richie states blandly and tosses the Ipad back to Christoff. “And that character is an asshole.”

“Exactly.” Christoff sings, and Richie rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses. He really didn’t want to do this audition. He wouldn’t need to either, if he could just get his shows to sell better. If he was actually known for his comedy. 

“Why am I auditioning for a horror movie when I should be doing comedy?” Richie bitched. He had been in a bad mood ever since he was so rudely awakened from whatever he was dreaming about that he wants to remember for some reason.

“It doesn’t matter what kind of movie it is. If this thing lands as successfully as the last one did, people will know your name, Richie. The guy’s an asshole but he’s charming and controversial. Play a role like that and play it well and get your name out there. People start looking you up and they find your stand-up shit, and boom, you get what you want, and we can all get our paychecks and go home.”

Richie didn’t argue, just slipped down in his seat and waited to get to the studio. Christoff was right, but Richie’s sour mood wanted him to be wrong. He didn’t want to be known for something else and have people possibly stumble on his comedy. He wanted to be known for his comedy, first and foremost. Maybe that was selfish or wishful thinking, but it’s what Richie wanted.

Richie impatiently waited in the waiting room with all the other up and coming actors that shared his similar features. Most of them were younger than him- and more good looking, in his opinion. But they were all about six foot if not a little taller, dark hair. Most were fairly muscular. Some donned scruffy facial hair like Richie and some were clean shaven. His knee bobbed up and down quickly, feeling more nervous than he should. He’s been doing this a while, but he would be lying if he’s said he’s been in anything as large as this movie. 

His name was finally called, and he jumped out of his seat with the script he was given rolled up in his hand. As soon as Richie passed the threshold of the door, something felt wrong. Like the fluorescent lights buzzed too loudly and the air was knocked a few degrees too high. He swallowed and brushed his hair out of his face as he took position in front of the casting table. He looked up at the casting table and put on a huge fake Richie Tozier smile- and just as he’s practiced so many times, met the eyes of each one of the casting directors as he spoke, starting with the end right, “Hello-” move to the next one, “My names Richie Tozier,” now the middle, “and I will be auditioning- ” next, “for the role of,” and he locked eyes with the last one- his throat caught, closing up like he swallowed his food wrong. The man staring back had his eyebrows pulled together like he was thinking hard about something. 

Richie started sputtering and coughing hard- Christoff appeared next to him with a bottle of water. He took a few gulps and handed back. “Sorry about that.” He cleared his throat again and continued. “I will be auditioning for the role of Logan Mane.” His eyes kept going back to the man on the end, even when he tried to look away. But he wasn’t looking at Richie, he was looking down at the table in front of him, flipping through the folder of Richie’s headshots quickly, violently. Richie gulped and suddenly felt very nauseous.

Richie glanced down at the script before starting, putting on his best southern accent that he could, “Alright, now you listen here-”

“ _Richie_?” 

It was like he had been punched in the face. His face literally throbbed so viciously for a moment he stumbled back and felt the nausea return full force. “I’m going to be sick.” He announced before bolting out of the room and outside into the disgusting California heat. He dry heaved over a railing by the stairs, but nothing actually came out. Probably due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten yet, and he was grateful for that.

“Dude, are you okay?” Christoff came bolting about behind him. “What is going on with you today?”

“I don’t fucking know, Christoff!” Richie shouted, louder than he meant to but he didn’t really care. “I’m going home.” He pushed himself off the railing.

“Rich, you got to get back in there and finish your audition.”

Richie swung around quickly, sweat rolling down the side of his face. He pointed a finger at his agent. “No, I fucking don’t. I don’t want to do this stupid movie. I can decide what’s best for me, okay? _Me_. I don’t want to do fucking horror movies with shitty endings just to make a few bucks. In fact, you’re fired!”

“Richie-”

“No, fuck you. You’re fired.” Richie stomped away, leaving his agent behind. The LA heat was brutal but as he got further away from the building, the anger started to fade. He called a taxi once he was far enough away from the studio that he was sure his agent wouldn’t come running after him. Once he was home, he really couldn’t remember why he was set off in the first place and felt stupid for blowing the audition. 

When the movie came out a couple years later, Richie vaguely remembered going to the audition. He remembered it being hot in the room and that was the day he fired his old agent. He smiled to himself and thought he was lucky. He could be doing a long repetitive press junket for a horror movie he didn’t want to be in instead of on tour for his new Netflix special. _Life works out_.

What he didn’t remember was Bill, sitting at the end of that casting table, flipping through page after page of this man who looked so fucking familiar- not in a way where he was a small time actor who had been in this and that, but in a way where Bill Denbrough _knew_ this man. He flipped back and forth between pictures of him smiling, his front tooth just a little crooked and the bulky frames he wore magnifying his blue eyes. He turned the resume back to the front page and read the name again- Richie Tozier. _RichieTozierRichieTozierRichieTozier._ He repeated it in his head over and over again, until something happened. Until a small piece of Bill cracked and he heard a pitchy voice, _Trash the Trashmouth, I see how it is._

Bill hadn’t even realized he said Richie’s name out loud. But then he was gone. The other casting directors had irritated faces, rolling their eyes and grumbling about professionalism and comedians. A moment later, his agent popped in, said he had left and that was that. The next actor came in, tall, dark hair, and low southern drawl replacing the one before him. By the end of that audition, Bill had forgotten about Richie Tozier altogether. 

It would be years later, Bill and Richie are sharing a beer on the porch of Stan and Patty’s beautiful Georgia home that it would suddenly hit Bill- the image of Richie pale and sweaty, the rolled up script shaking in his hand and him running out of the room. Bill laughed to himself and nudged Richie with his shoulder. “Y-you auditioned for m-my movie.” He stated smugly.

Richie squinted, thinking for a moment. “Well damn, I did. Not really though, I don’t think the half sentence I got out before I yacked counts.”

“It counts.” Bill assured with a grin. They clinked bottles and took a swig. “That was like, r-right before your big b-break, right?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah I fired my sorry ass agent and got one that actually cared about what I want and not just his paycheck. Or her, paycheck, I should say. She’s great, she started booking me shows right away and low and behold Richie Tozier ended up being a stand -up comedian afterall.”

“D-do you think w-we would have remembered then? If y-you hadn’t left?”

Richie considered it for a second. “I don’t think so. I don’t think any of us would have remembered and actually remembered the whole time as long as It was alive. Apparently almost all of us ran into each other at some point over the last 20 years. Bev and I spent an entire night together back in ’99 and had no clue who we were. Or at least, most of the time. I don’t know, it was weird. I can remember most of it now but it was still a long time ago.”

Bill nodded in agreement. “I’m p-pretty sure Stan’s accounting firm w-was the one we used when we w-were filming in Atlanta l-like 2014. It’s cr-razy how we could have spread a-all over the country and s-still ended up so close to e-each other.” 

Richie barked out a laugh. “You can say that again. Even Eddie and I ran into each other. I think had we spent more than a couple of minutes talking to each other- we would have remembered. But I don’t think it would have stuck.” Richie finished off his beer. “It all worked out though, right?”

Bill finished his off and chuckled at the commotion coming from in the house. “Yeah, it all w-worked out.”


	5. +1

+1 

Mike was the first to know. And really, the only one to know. They didn’t understand at first, when Bev moved to Portland and stopped calling every week. They only ever received one postcard each from her. Mike remembers the hurt in Ben’s face when they called her after not hearing from her for a month and she asked, “Who?” when he told her it was Ben. They were hurt, but not really surprised because they all feared deep inside that Bev would move on to find cooler friends. Not losers.

It wasn’t until Eddie was gone that Mike really started to wonder. There was no way Eddie would forget them- forget  _ Richie _ . But it wasn’t more than a month after he had left that Ben would find Richie curled up in the hammock, tears streaking his face because another week had passed and there had been no letter from Eddie. He had never called, so Mike searched high and low until he found a phone number in the yellow pages dedicated to the returning address on one of the letters he had sent. Mike dialed the number from the library phone. 

There was a heavy crackle on the other end as the phone picked up. “Hello?” A woman answered.

“Mrs.K! Hi, it’s Mike, Eddie’s friend from Derry. Is Eddie home? I would really like to speak with him.”

There was silence on the other end before she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry boy, you must have the wrong number.” The other end went dead and Mike felt a piece of himself crack and he sat the receiver back in its place. He didn’t tell anyone- especially not Richie that he called Eddie’s house. That someone that sounded eerily like Mrs. K picked up the phone but said he had the wrong number. That Mrs. K was probably hiding Eddie from them. Because he knew if he did that, Richie would go after him.

Most of them had been surprised Richie hadn’t tried already. He had a truck, he had Eddie’s address from the letters. But he never tried because Eddie promised he’d come back to Derry after they graduated. He  _ promised _ . 

But graduation came and went. Bill left for Columbia University, Stan left for NYU, promising that if he sees Eddie, he will drag him back to Derry himself, hogtied in the back of his station wagon. Ben left for an overseas internship. None of them kept in contact for more than a few weeks. A phone call here, a letter there. 

Eventually, it was just Richie and Mike left and Richie was looking more and more hollow every day. His fear came true. He was forgotten, just as easily as he forced himself into people’s lives, they disappeared, and his friendship was forgotten.

Mike had a sickening feeling- that they weren’t forgetting on purpose. But they had killed the clown- they had to, right? So- it couldn’t be. But what if he and Richie left? What if they would forget too and what if It  _ does  _ come back? Who would be left to stop him? Mike felt sick as the realization set in- it wasn’t a hypothetical, he knew. He knew then they didn’t defeat It but he couldn’t let Richie sit and rot with him in Derry until that stupid fucking clown came back.

Richie was in the clubhouse- per usual. Drunk or high- per usual. Mike flung open the door and hopped down. “I think you should leave.” Mike announced, hands on his hips.

Richie raised an eyebrow dramatically before he started laughing hysterically. He couldn’t seem to stop. He laughed until he cried and the cigarette he was smoking fell to the floor. Mike waited until Richie caught his breath and watched his friend’s face get sad. “I should leave?” Richie wasn’t looking at Mike, just looking up at the wood plank ceiling. “I should fucking leave?” His tone was more spiteful this time, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with a chuckle. This time, he did turn to Mike when he spoke. “Why don’t  _ you _ leave, huh? Leave me here just like everyone else fucking did. If you don’t want me around you, do yourself a favor and get the fuck out of this town before Dickwad Tozier decides to tag along, okay?”

Mike rolled his eyes and took a step towards Richie. “I’m not saying that, asshat. I’m saying  _ you _ should get out of this town.  _ You _ should go do something with your life. Go make yourself happy instead of waiting around for something.”  _ For someone _ , he didn’t say. Richie only scoffed and took another drag. “Rich, I don’t know how to say this in a way that helps but- he’s not coming back.” Mike bent down and put a comforting hand on Richie’s knee. He could see the cigarette start to tremble in between Richie’s boney fingers. “You’re making yourself miserable staying here and waiting for something that isn’t going to happen. I don’t want you gone because I’m tired of seeing you. I want you to go find happiness because I’m so tired of seeing you this sad. I love you, man. But if everyone else- if they-  _ forgot _ , after they left, maybe that’s what you need too. A new life, a fresh start.”

It wasn’t like Richie Tozier to be quiet. It wasn’t like him to not butt in and argue. But he stayed silent the whole time Mike spoke, taking drag after drag of his cigarette and staring blankly up at the ceiling. When Mike was finished, he didn’t say anything about the wet streaks on Richie’s face, or the way his hands trembled. But Richie nodded his head, bringing his bottom lip in. He met Mike's eyes for a second and gave another nod. It wasn’t much but it said what his mouth couldn’t-  _ You’re right. _

A couple of weeks later, Mike was waiting with Richie at the greyhound bus station. Richie was nervously bouncing up and down on his heels and Mike could feel both dread and happiness tug him in two different directions. He was happy- proud of Richie for getting out, for following his dreams. He was going to fit right in in Chicago. But if what Mike feared was true, then his last real friend was leaving and would soon forget him. He’d be stuck in this town for god knows how long, until he could figure out how to make them all remember.

“Hey,” Mike pulled on Richie’s arm as the bus came into sight. Richie looked at Mike with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Make sure you send me a letter as soon as you get a new place, okay? Like, right away. And get a phone if you can so I can call you. Please.” Mike shouldn’t beg so hard, shouldn’t give Richie any reason to feel guilty about doing the exact thing Mike had told him to do.

“Of course, Mikey.” He pulled Mike into a tight embrace as the bus pulled up in front of them. “Thank you, Mike. For everything.” He mumbled into Mikes neck.

Mike patted his back. “Yeah man, of course. I love you, Rich.”

They pulled away, neither mentioning how teary eyed the other was. “I love you too, man.” Richie climbed on the bus and it pulled away- Richie’s bulky frames and crazy hair visible through the window as it slowly started down the road.

A week later, Mike received a letter in the mail, explaining all the exciting things Richie’s gotten to see since arriving. The letter not once mentioned any of the other losers and Mike wondered if that was on purpose or not. At the end of his letter, Richie said they were supposed to be installing a landline in his apartment that he and his roommates were supposed to be splitting the bill for, so Richie would be calling him that weekend. 

The call never came, and neither did any more letters. It only took a couple of weeks for Mike’s fears to be confirmed that this was Its fault. His friend’s memories were ripped from them and now they were all gone, strung across the globe- leaving just Mike here to deal with it if he ever comes back.

But he promised himself he would never leave so he would never forget. Because when the time comes, somebody needs to remember. Someone has to call the other- know where they are- who they are. Somehow convince them to come back. So, Mike needed to keep tabs on them. He did his best for the first couple of years- he called Eddie’s house every so often. Most of the time his mom would pick up, and Mike would just hang up. But every so often a male voice would pick up.

“Kaspbrak residence.”

“Eddie?”

“Um, this is he. Who’s asking?”

It hurt that Eddie didn’t recognize Mike's voice, but Eddie’s was hardly recognizable either- deeper than the squeaky kid he once knew. “This is Mike.” He tried.

“I don’t know a Mike.”

There it was. It hurt- it definitely hurt but it’s what Mike expected. “Right, this is Mike with the Derry public library, I was just calling about an overdue encyclopedia that has brought your bill up to-”

There was a loud single  _ HA _ on the other end. “Oh god, you people are ridiculous. When was that book due, 1989? I live in New York now, asshole. Don’t call here again.” The line went dead and Mike cringed inwardly. It hurt to have Eddie- sweet, cute, spitfire little Eddie talk to him like that. But at least he knew where Eddie lived and had a number to contact him at just in case. That’s what mattered. 

He did the same spiel with Bev. When he called the number, some other girl picked up but when he asked for Beverly Marsh, the phone was silent for a moment before a familiar voice picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi Beverly, this is Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Yes, Mike from the Derry public library. I was calling to inform you about an overdue video you rented from us-” The line went dead without so much as a word from her. And somehow that hurt worse than being yelled at by Eddie.

Stan and Bill were harder to find, having to call sub-branches of university offices to be on hold to talk to a different representative to tell some bullshit story about important medical information so they would give Mike the extension to their dorm phones. Mike didn’t need to call to confirm they still lived there, at least not until a few years had passed and both Stan and Bill would be out of college and getting their own places. That’s when things would get trickier.

Things started getting easier into the 2000’s. Bill came out with a best seller, so his life became easier to follow. The internet made things exceptionally easier for Mike once a computer with internet access was added to the library. He found videos of Richie doing stand up and found out through a quick google search that Ben had opened his own architect company out of New York.

Mike wondered if Eddie, Stan, and Ben ever crossed paths, all in the same state. 

Mike was able to find uploaded copies of the Portland newspaper and spent a whole day scrolling through them until he found an article about an up and coming fashion designer- top of her class being accepted into a program in New York- Beverly Marsh. 

Facebook became Mike’s lifeline when it came to following the Losers. He finally found Stan after years of searching- finding he was married and living in Atlanta. Richie, Bill, and Bev’s lives were at the simple reach of his phone once social media blew up along with his three friends finding their own fame. Eddie nearly never posted on his social media- same with Stan. But at least it was updated enough to know that Eddie still lived in New York and was also married- to a woman. Mike wondered if Eddie ever remembered the buck tooth kid he was obviously in love with for all the years Mike had known them.

Every so often- Mike would call, just to see if their numbers were the same. It was scary, just how easy it was to find people’s personal information on the internet. It was as easy as finding the website of the company listed in their profile that they worked for and finding a contact number on that website. It would almost always be a receptionist who picked up when Mike called, but as long as he knew it was a place where he could get a hold of them if needed, he felt secured. 

Eventually, the losers all sat around each other, drinking wine and beer around a fire and laughing and reminiscing on things they had missed out on being separated for over 20 years. One of them finally asked how Mike was able to find them all so easy. Mike’s face got warm as he thought about it but blamed it on the alcohol and fire. “Easy. I just stalked you guys’ every move from the moment you left Derry until I needed you back.” He half joked. At first, there were a few scattered laughs until it donned on everyone that that was really what Mike had done- had to do. There was an awkward pause. “Don’t make it weird. It’s not like I was doing much else in my time. Stalking my long-lost best friends and finding out everything I could about an intergalactic demon clown.” He chuckled and took a sip of his wine. 

“How did you manage to keep track of us in the nineties?” Richie laughed. “Did you have secret tracking devices or something? Because I feel like- although you had the best intentions, that may be breaching some sort of privacy laws. Plus, I have fucked  _ way  _ too many married celebrities to have been bugged this whole time.”

“Beep, beep Richie.” Eddie glared, unimpressed. Richie just laughed and pulled Eddie closer to him, kissing the side of his head.

Mike laughed while shaking his head. “Nope.” He said, popping the P. “Just persistence. You fuckers didn’t make it easy for me. Well, except you, Rich. You couldn’t keep your face out of the spotlight long enough for me to lose you.” Mike joked. Richie beamed, wide grin shining in the fire light. “The nineties were hard, I basically just called your houses or your dorms until someone said you didn’t live there anymore.”

“I fucking knew it!” Eddie gasped. “I knew I didn’t have any fucking overdue library books in Derry that they were hunting me down over.” Eddie was scowling, arms crossed over his chest. Everyone laughed and Bev piped up, yelling about the same thing happening to her.

“Stan,” Mike pointed accusationally at their quiet friend. “You made it almost fucking impossible to find you. Honestly, Facebook is like the main reason I was able to keep track of most of you. But when Stan left NYU, I lost him until like 2010 probably. Til that asshole decided to finally join the living world on social media.”

Stan groaned. “Patty made me get that so we could share our vacation pictures with her family in New Jersey. I guess it worked out for the best.”

“Do you guys know how easy it is to find you though, all in all? Like no wonder that stupid fucking clown would just pop up wherever you are. It’s literally so fucking easy. If you guys weren’t getting your faces plastered on a billboard or a magazine or twitters trending topic, it was literally as easy as calling the company you worked for and asking them to transfer you.” Mike explained. “Basically, my monthly schedule would be; google Richie to see what stupid shit he was doing,” Richie beamed again as if it were the dearest compliment. “scroll through Bill’s twitter to see if he was on a book tour or not- if not, I knew you were in LA because your wife- a well known actress, lives in LA.” Bill gave an impressed look. “I had a subscription to the fashion newsletter that came from Bev’s company where it talked about everything  _ the marvelous Beverly Marsh was working on for the upcoming season _ .” Mike used a high breathy voice to mock the newsletter. Bev blushed and giggled. “And for the rest of you, I would just call your office and when you picked up the phone, I hung up. All I needed to know is that you were safe and alive and I knew how to reach you when the time was right.” Mike finished explaining. It felt nice now that they all knew. It kind of felt like he was keeping a secret and now it was lifted. He had them all back and they all remembered. That wasn’t going to change now.

As he looked at all his friends, faces illuminated by the fire- he was hit with a wave of relief. It was all really over. Everything he went through- or didn’t get the chance to go through. Everything he missed out on and sacrificed. It was all worth it because they were all together again. He completed his mission and it was all worth it. He would do it a hundred times over again for this group of losers, if he had to. But he didn’t because Pennywise was actually really fucking dead this time. They could feel that deep in their souls. “Did you know?” Richie asked after an unusual beat of silence. “When I left for Chicago and you stayed behind, did you know back then that we had all forgotten and that’s why you stayed?”

Mike nodded and finished off his drink. “Thank you.” Was all Richie replied, pulling Eddie by the waist and nuzzling his face into his neck.

“I didn’t fully understand it until it was just me and you, but I couldn’t let you stay there and wait-” Eddie’s guilty face stopped the rest of his sentence. “If everyone else got the chance to start over, you deserved one too. I knew what I was doing- what I was getting myself into. I knew if I stayed, I could bring us all back together one day. But if I left-” He didn’t finish it, the ending obvious. 

They all gravitated to each other- clinging to each other much like they did as kids. But there was no one around to see the fully-grown adults nestle into each other. To find comfort in the warmth of each other like they were teenagers who just discovered how much touch could mean. But they had always been like that- reverting back to a child-like love. One that was pure and clean and unconditional. “I did it for us.” Mike mumbled into the hug, wishing his arms were long enough to wrap around all six of his friends.


End file.
